


Twenty-three

by Lady_Paper_Writerson



Series: Birthday Bird [7]
Category: DCU (Comics), Deathstroke the Terminator (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M, Praise Kink, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-28
Updated: 2019-10-28
Packaged: 2021-01-07 13:29:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,482
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21217451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Paper_Writerson/pseuds/Lady_Paper_Writerson
Summary: It’s a rough night for Jason, as a single glance confirms.





	Twenty-three

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! ^_^
> 
> Welcome to my second entry for SladeRobin Week 2019! I'm so glad I'm finally posting this, I've had this ready for almost two months now. XD  
Day 4 - Chosen prompt: **Nice Slade**
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

He comes in by the window, like he’s been doing for the past few months. It’s a routine at this point. A truly pleasant one too, if he has to be honest with himself.

Despite how busy the casino is on a typical, summer-time Friday night such as the one they find themselves in, this room is quiet, dimly lit. Slade spots the kid immediately, resting in one of the couches in the seating area. No laptop or paperwork over his lap, as far as he can tell from where he stands. Merely a bottle on the table in front of him, and a glass in his hand. Slade grins, casually strolling his way there, but the smirk on his lips flickers once he’s closer and gets a good view of him.

It’s a rough night for Jason, as a single glance confirms.

He’s hunched over, shoulders slumped. His right hand supports his head, that same elbow resting upon his knee. His black hair is messy and disheveled. Eyes fixed down on the floor. The two upper buttons of his white shirt (which is clean but creased, like he’s been wearing it for hours) are popped open. Tie, dark red tuxedo and vest are left (or, more accurately, _thrown_) aside, at the back of the couch.

Slade also notices that poor, old Johnnie Black over the table is about three quarters empty.

“Having a few drinks?”

Jason doesn’t move, but he does roll his eyes to glance up at him. He’s pale, and completely wearied out. Utterly drained.

Eventually, he just greets him with a small wave of his hand and then points at the bar, with the hand still holding his drink. “It’s behind the counter.”

Slade offers a sound of affirmation. He doesn’t need to check. He believes him. He knows he’ll find the regular bag of cash waiting for him there, just like every other time. Jason always goes by the book in such things. Kid’s extremely thorough when it comes to Slade’s payments; right after each job is concluded, without a day’s delay.

Slade likes this. Despite the… _intimacy_ that’s been developed between them, some things just need to remain steady and clear. Honest business result to healthy ‘friendships’, indeed. Job is one thing. Bed is another. Better keep one as far as possible from the other. They’ve already tangled things more than they should have in the first place.

Not that he regrets it, though. Far from it. Secrecy is short of arousing, after all. Recently, things had been… stressful for him, and Jason was the only pleasant break he got to enjoy. Red Hood was clearly not welcome in Gotham these days. It was a very lucky coincidence that he needed to lay low at the very same time the kid happened to need someone to watch his back. Doing all the business of ambiguous morality for him.

Slade knew and always liked Grayson. Had plenty of experience of him. He wasn’t around back when the Bat had taken Jason in though, so he didn’t really know much of the kid. Nothing apart from the basics and what he’d gotten from the brief times they’d happened to come across each other in battle; second Robin. Murdered by the Joker. Came back from the dead (compliments of the al Ghuls). One of the best currently working in hand-to-hand combat. Gear expert. A bit unstable, but clearly sharp-minded. Hence, dangerous. And Slade _likes_ dangerous.

He also likes… other things. Both obvious, external features, and those traits of attitude that take time to show. Grayson definitely _is_ magnificently beautiful, pretty much the definition of the prince charming type. Jason might not have that, but this doesn’t mean he doesn’t possess his own, _far_ more than fair share of beauty and attractiveness. What Jason lacks in charm, he makes up for defiance, which Slade has always found way more interesting. Kid’s handsome, truly handsome, and bears things that even Grayson doesn’t have. The muscled, yet lean frame of his. The long legs, and killer thighs. His height, and strength. The sharp lines of that face. His marvelous jaw and high cheekbones. That _‘I’ll dare anything’ _smirk of his. Those deep, blue-green eyes.

“Want some company?”

Jason looks at him thoroughly. As if trying to detect any ill intentions behind his suggestion, or his presence there. “Sure. Why the hell not,” he offers. “Get yourself a glass.”

Slade takes the seat opposite Jason’s, after he’s made a quick stop at the bar. Before he gets comfortable, he moves forward, for Jason to fill his glass. The kid does that with surprising accuracy and stability, not spilling a drop, despite how drunk he clearly is.

“So,” he speaks as he sprawls back against his seat. “What’s going on? You don’t look exactly happy.”

Jason snorts. “But do I look _good_?”

Slade chuckles. “Quoting movies that came out so many years before you were born?* To _me?”_

“Sorry. I keep forgetting you were in your _twenties_ back in the eighties, you freak.”

“Late.”

“What?”

“Late twenties.”

Jason just shrugs and proceeds to refill his own glass. He’s being more than generous about it. The quantity is for a double. Maybe triple. Slade slightly grimaces in disapproval. He taps his fingers at the arm of the couch. “Isn’t that a little too much?”

“I’m not driving or anything, so…” Jason sneers.

“Put that down.”

The youth chortles a first, but then, noticing his expression, crooks an eyebrow, just before the liquid touches his lips. “Are you serious?”

“Are _you_?”

Jason’s mouth falls open. Shuts, and opens again. He shakes his head, and suddenly looks angry. Or, more accurately, _tries_ to look angry. “Screw you, Slade,” he murmurs, shy pink color rising to his cheeks. “I don’t need you playing _dad_ right now, okay? So, either cut it, or grab your cash and scoot.”

Slade actually knows that this is _exactly_ what the kid needs. Only, he’s no good at that. Never has been. He’s certainly not going to master the art now, so they’ll both have to settle for the next best thing.

Jason drinks up, and then reaches out to put his glass on the table. By the time it touches the surface, his face has changed at least three different shades of green, ending up to a ghostly white. His eyes widen as his stomach obviously heaves. He’s on his feet in a heartbeat, one hand over his mouth, staggering his way to the bathroom as fast as possible and kicking the door shut behind him.

Slade rolls his eyes, sighing. He’s on the verge of getting up and following. He eventually chooses to stay put, allowing the kid some space and letting him keep his pride and handle it on his own. He does, however, make a mental note to go check on him in case he stays in there too long.

It’s not a minute later when the phone starts to ring. Not Jason’s cell. It’s the office line. Slade casually ignores it, and it goes straight to the answering machine. The dull, recorded voice urges the caller to leave a message, and this would be the part where, most probably, the person would hang up. Unless it’s someone of Jason’s employees from downstairs, he guesses.

There’s nothing, for a while. Silence. Then, the person takes a deep breath and exhales.

_“Hey, Jason. Hi. Are you there?”_

Drake’s voice is quiet, and soft. Tired, and hesitant. Has him sitting up a little.

A disappointed sigh follows. _“I, uh… guess you’re not. I just… I tried your old cellphone number… many times… hoped I’d catch you here…”_ A low, nervous chuckle. _“Out partying already, I take it?”_

He leans back against the couch, trying to recall anything worth celebrating happening to Jason within the last few days. There’s nothing, really. All his business flowed reasonably well, to the best of his knowledge, but there was nothing special. He’d know, otherwise, since he now kept a track of the kid.

Drake pauses for a second. _“Jay, I… I know this last year came down hard on you. I know. With everything that’s happened with your team, and Bruce and Damian… and after Roy…”_

Slade winces. He already knows Todd used to be close to Harper. By this point, he believes he’s also figured just _how_ close. It’s more than obvious, to anyone really looking, on what extend ginger’s death has affected Jason. Hell. Even _he_ liked that kid himself. Had spirit, and guts. Didn’t deserve to go down that way.

Third Robin’s voice now cracks. _“My god, if you’re there, please pick up,” _he rasps. And then, after another short silence, adds, very quietly, almost in a whisper:_ “I’m alone too.”_

He hears the toilet flushing and glances at the door leading to the bathroom, just as Drake, clearly reclaiming at least some of his composure, finishes the call. _“Happy Birthday, Jason. I’m here when you need me, okay? And... I miss you, brother.”_

There is a slight reluctance, as if the boy means to add something more, but instead, the line dies. Slade hears water running in the bathroom, signaling that Jason’s doing at least reasonably fine at this point.

So. Birthday. Right. That certainly explains a lot. After a certain age, or a certain amount of experience in their fields of expertise (or both), birthdays tend to be about as pleasant as a prolonged recovery period with zero painkillers.

It takes another three or four minutes for Jason to return. He slowly, cautiously creeps back into his seat. He’s even paler now, and a whole lot of weaker, his moves slow and exhausted. His shoulders slump as he crosses his hands over his knees and shuts his eyes, taking a deep, deep breath.

Slade reaches forward, lifting an eyebrow. “Well,” he drawls, dragging the bottle towards himself and away from Jason, “you won’t be needing any more of your friend Johnnie tonight, I take it?”

Jason frowns, a shiver clearly running through him as he shakes his head. Despite the obvious weakness, a fair share of clarity seems to be back home. He looks more focused, and his voice when he speaks is entirely steady, albeit low and hoarse. “I won’t be much of a company tonight, Slade.”

Slade hums. He pours more whiskey in his glass, without looking up. “Why don’t you let _me_ be the judge of that.”

The boy just shrugs, and Slade takes two sips. “How’s your brother doing these days?” he suddenly asks.

Jason inhales, somewhat tensed. “Which one?”

“My former favourite.”

It might be an unnecessary question, since Slade believes he already knows the answer. Had Grayson been around, had he been himself, he would have never left his ‘little wing’ go down to _this_. That’s what he likes to think, at least.

Jason grimaces, which amuses Slade, but then goes rigid. “Beats me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jason raises a hand to support his head. “I haven’t seen him.”

Slade lowers his glass. “Since _when_?”

The kid briefly glances at him, before lowering his eyes once more.

“It’s been a year, give or take. You’re telling me you haven’t been interested on visiting him in a damn year? After what happened to him?”

Jason remains seemingly unaffected by his choice of words, yet the way he digs his fingernails into the flesh of his own hand doesn’t skip Slade’s attention. “He doesn’t want to have anything to do with any of us,” he utters, expressionlessly.

Slade clicks his tongue. “So?” It wouldn’t be a problem to _him._

He’s not sure if Jason’s heard him. It certainly doesn’t look that way, since he keeps talking as if never interrupted. “It’s easy, I suppose, when you don’t remember shit,” he says hoarsely. “To distance yourself. To just… _decide_ not to care anymore. To have the option to just do that. It doesn’t hurt that way.” A bitter, broken laugh follows, which strongly resembles a sob, as Jason buries a hand through his hair. “I’m doomed to envy him, even when he’s at his lowest point,” he whispers, “no matter what.”

Slade takes another small drink, before he puts his glass down. Jason doesn’t even flinch as he gets up and approaches.

“You’re envying him for getting his damn head wrecked,” he asks as he settles down beside him, “or for turning into just about the most pretentious little ratshit in the world? Because, you know, you can make the former happen pretty easily, and the latter is a matter of choice, really. You can be like that, if you want. Just don’t expect me to come around and fuck you again any time soon. It turns me off.”

This elicits a small, real laugh this time. Jason finally looks up at him with those goddamn beautiful eyes and that _so_ very cute expression on his face, which makes Slade want to ravish him. He raises a hand and brings it to the back of the kid’s neck, lightly massaging over the pressure points on that spot.

“Does that mean that… _you_ saw him?” Jason asks hesitantly.

“I was curious,” Slade says, digging his fingers a little deeper, causing Jason to gasp and lightly arch, briefly shutting his eyes. “Had to see with my own eyes.”

Jason tuts. _“Eye.”_

Slade narrows that _eye,_ turning his grip close to painful for a moment. Jason stiffens, growling an _“ouch!”_ and slaps his hand, lightly. Slade, however, maintains the grip, bringing it back into a gentle state, and Jason remains pliant. “And?” he urges him.

“Got in his cab. Talked with him, during the ride. He didn’t know who I was, of course. It’s like I told you; kid’s a total jerk these days. Fancies himself as edgy and cool, while he’s nothing more than your average, everyday street asshole. Trying to convince himself that he’s doing just fine and peachy.”

Jason, quite obviously, doesn’t like what he hears. Neither the way Slade speaks it, nor the fact that he actually tells the truth. Despite that, he doesn’t comment on it. He visibly swallows, taking a small breath, as if to gather up courage. “Okay. Okay, but… how _is_ he?”

The kid is too tired and emotionally weak at this point to even try to hide his longing to know, and Slade doesn’t feel nearly as sadistic as to tease him about it at this point. “He functions just fine,” he assures him.

The relief spreading over the kid’s face is certainly there, albeit short. He instantly sinks to himself afterwards, eyes facing away, at the void.

Slade moves the hand he still has on Jason’s neck. He wraps that arm around his waist and pulls him closer, until they’re pressed together, hip to shoulder. Kid’s hands might be cold, but his body is always so warm, which Slade absolutely enjoys. He nuzzles his face against the side of Jason’s, running lips over soft skin. Moves his other hand down to lightly grip at Jason’s knee, slowly rubbing upwards, to his thigh.

“Forget about it now,” he murmurs. “Let me make you feel good, little bird. Hm?”

Jason remains stiff for yet another moment, before he relaxes completely, melting over him with a soft, needy sigh.

Soon, they’re making their way to the bedroom. Or, more accurately, _Slade_ makes their way to the bedroom. The feeling of having Jason’s tall, warm body clinging to him, his strong legs wrapped around his waist, those plush lips framing his own, mouthing at his jaw and upper neck, leaving behind small, frantic kisses, is definitely worth the effort (even with his enhanced strength, manhandling people of Jason’s height and frame isn’t exactly the easiest of tasks). But it’s definitely worth all the trouble in the world.

When Slade throws him down on the bed, the kid lands on his back, breath catching as he backs off, supporting himself on his elbows and unconsciously spreading his legs a little. His cock is now standing profoundly visible through those ridiculously expensive pants. Always so responsive.

Slade grabs the kid’s left ankle and forcefully pulls him closer, flattening him on his back over the mattress. Jason gasps as he’s dragged forward, looking up at him with those eyes in longing, fear and awe.

Slade offers one wicked smirk right before his hands start roaming down, over the middle of Jason’s shirt, which he immediately gets out of the way by casually ripping it apart, buttons popping around. His hands then slide fabric off the kid’s shoulders. He’d prefer to take his time with that, feel up every little scar on the newly revealed skin beneath his palms, but Jason, eager to proceed with the act, slightly picks himself up to help into discarding it. Slade lets him do that on his own, taking those few seconds to get rid of his own shirt.

“Still here with me, boy?” he asks, just to be sure.

Jason weakly moves his head, wetting his lips as he gazes at Slade’s chest. “Where else would I be?”

Slade leans forward, looming over him, one hand coming to lightly cup his throat, shoving his head back. The other reaches to roughly palm the kid’s hardened cock, still trapped beneath his garments. A sound escapes the boy’s mouth then, something between an agonized groan and a needy whine.

Music to his ears.

“I’m not sure I believe you,” he drawls, tightening his grip on both places, eliciting another groan. “Say it.”

Jason’s positively shivering, rolling up his hips to press himself more into Slade’s palm. “Fuck. I’m here, I’m here with you, you sadistic prick!” he gasps.

Slade grins, maintaining his grip on Jason’s white throat, but releasing the firm one over his cock. His fingers swiftly unbutton his pants, and Jason lifts his hips up so that Slade can discard them as well -along with his black boxers, leaving him completely naked.

Things pretty much take their own way from then on.

Now that his throat is released, Jason makes a move, as if to pick himself up again. Slade, having already sled out of his own pants, kneels over the bed, between the kid’s thighs, squeezing them widely apart. He wraps one hand around Jason’s dick and the kid’s back arches off the bed, a sharp cry escaping his mouth when Slade gives the first squeeze and stroke.

“Yeah,” he growls, brushing the thumb of his free hand firmly over Jason’s lips. Watching, as they part in a soft moan, allowing him to slip it inside. “That’s it. Just like that. Good boy. So good for me.”

It’ll never stop being priceless, watching Jason groaning and melting at such a praise. A further proof of how desperately the boy _needs_ this. Not just the sex, but, maybe even more so, the praise. The company. The contact. The acceptance.

He keeps slowly jerking him off for maybe half a minute, pumping his thumb in and out of that mouth at the same rhythm, enjoying how Jason’s own hands come up to grip at his upper arms for balance. He then abruptly stops, and instantly snakes his hands under Jason’s ass, gripping firmly and lifting up his lower half, so that marvelous thighs end up pressed over his shoulders. He dips his head down and swallows Jason’s cock in one go.

The kid howls. His strong thighs curl around Slade’s neck as if he tries to strangle him, and it takes much strength to hold him somewhat steady through this. He sucks him until Jason’s whimpering, a chorus of incoherent words and pleas escaping his mouth. One of his hands is grabbing through Slade’s hair, the other digging fingernails into his shoulder in a way that will possibly tear through skin.

“Slade,” Jason whines. “Slade, fuck, I want… I want, I need…”

Slade laughs. He places one kiss and a lingering, full bite on the kid’s right thigh, and then releases him.

He allows the boy a few seconds to somewhat collect himself, just enough for him to reach out and get the lube from the first drawer, where he knows Jason keeps it. Then, before the kid even realizes what’s going on, Slade has both his wrists in one hand, in a bruising grip, pinning them firmly on the mattress above his head. Jason’s eyes go wide open at that, especially when Slade leans further over him, once more settled between his legs, pushing his thighs apart, trapping him completely between his body and the bed. Jason immediately starts squirming under his body and against his grip, testing it, but it’s really a waste of time. He isn’t going anywhere unless Slade wants him to. They both know it. And they both love it.

“Hush there, pup,” Slade says darkly. “You’re mine now.”

He palms firmly the side of Jason’s waist with his free, huge, calloused hand, and slides all the way in.

Slade doesn’t bother restraining a gasp of his own. After all, it’s barely audible over Jason’s strangled moan. He bites the inside of his cheek at how tight the kid is.

“Jesus, fuck!” Jason pants, desperately trying to move, and, even more desperately, to get _Slade_ to move.

He doesn’t bother. He’s taking his time, simply lingering there, with his impossibly heavy balls pressed up tightly against Jason’s ass, and his cock stretching him open. Jason whines in need and frustration, arching his neck as he squirms, and Slade, of course, takes full advantage of it, bending down to suck a marvelous bruise at the front of Jason’s throat.

“Slade!” he cries out, twisting in his grip. “Slade, mmmhhh, you tease —AH! _Move,_ move, please, I… I…”

Slade complies.

Jason’s panting and moaning, no more words right there. Slade drinks up all the little, frantic noises he’s fucking out of him, thrusting harshly, deeply, his mouth never leaving the kid’s neck, planting dozens of small kisses and bites all over the length of it. At the same time, his hand comes back to Jason cock again, circling it firmly and stroking fast, along with his thrusts.

“Fuck!” Jason screams, trying to arch underneath him, and Slade, by now, knows exactly what this means. “F—fuck, I’ll…”

“Goddammit, kid,” he growls quietly. “You’re treasure. _Treasure_.”

The very next moment -maybe even the very _same_ moment-, just as the words reach Jason’s ears, he feels the kid coming in his hand, with one last, sharp cry of release.

“Good boy,” Slade praises, kissing down Jason’s cheek, as the kid tries to find his breath again. “You’ve done so well, little bird.”

He then starts brutally pounding into him, picking up the pace, seeking his own release. Jason, now all sweet and pliant under him, gives up small, intoxicating sounds for each thrust, adding up to the sensation, until Slade comes as well, pouring his seed deep inside of him.

Slade draws in a few long, uneven breaths, until he finds himself again, but he’s not hurrying to break the contact. In fact, he maintains it. Still inside of him, with his hand still keeping his wrists trapped, he leans over the kid, kissing along his face and neck. “So beautiful, boy,” he says, and Jason hums weakly, softly, shuddering. “Beautiful. And _mine_.”

Jason lets out something that could either be a whine or a laugh. “Possessive asshole,” he stutters.

Slade chuckles, finally releasing his wrists. “Tell me to stop, and I will, kid.”

He picks himself up and falls back against the bed, resting his head on a pillow. He watches the kid for a few moments, and when he doesn’t detect signs of movement, he gently scruffs him, pulling him close. Jason glances at him, a little surprised, before he allows himself to relax. Slade’s holding his head to his chest, his chin on top of Jason’s head. The boy’s gradually tucking himself closer, arms weakly tightening around Slade’s form.

They stay like that for quite a while. Slade’s slowly running fingers up and down the kid’s back. His other hand is lightly rubbing at one of his wrists, which he also brings to his mouth later, pressing a kiss at the inside of it.

“Kid?” he calls at this point, his thumb rubbing at Jason’s palm. “You alright? Talk to me.”

Jason hums a barely comprehensible answer. It sounds positive, albeit clearly sleepy and exhausted. “What’d you want me to say?” he huffs, eventually.

“Whatever’s on your head.”

Jason slightly shifts, clinging to him tightly. "You fuck so good,” he whispers breathlessly.

Slade snorts out a laugh, pressing a kiss against the kid’s brow. “Come on,” he urges, picking both of them up. “Shower. Now. Before you fall asleep for good.”

There’s a soft, protesting growl, but eventually, Jason cooperates, following Slade.

“Pain?” he asks, allowing the kid to support himself against him, since he’s clearly still shaky-legged, walking a bit gingerly.

Jason shakes his head, his expression calm and peaceful. “No, I’m good.”

The shower chamber is lavish, big enough for both of them to comfortably fit inside while still providing the room necessary to do their thing separately. Despite that, at some point, Slade closes the distance between them, pressing lips at the nape of the kid’s neck. Jason sighs, leaning back against his chest, as Slade’s hands softly rub soap over his arms and torso. Despite the calmness of the moment, the whole relaxation, he reads inner tension through the pattern of Jason’s breathing. It’s the way he’s roughly swallowing. The stiffness on his shoulders. The tightness at the muscles of his chest.

When Jason moves slowly under the spray, turning to him, he keeps his head low, and proceeds to bury his face at the crook of Slade’s neck. Slade slips an arm around his waist and pulls him closer.

“They’re gone,” he says then, his voice gradually cracking after every single word. “They’re all gone, Slade.”

Slade tenses, now aware that not all wetness on his skin is water.

Jason has… never allowed himself to be like this. Not in front of him, anyway. Not in front of most people, he supposes. What they do leaves no room for displays of weakness, especially when it comes to someone as proud as Jason is. Yet it is apparent that the alcohol still in his veins, combined with this particular day of the year, has inevitably inflamed this wave of heartbreak, causing it to erupt. To bring up on the surface all this tension, all those suppressed, painful feelings.

What a year it had been for the boy, indeed. The abrupt loss of his team -a team that, as a matter of fact, had been working quite solidly, in the brief period of their action. That infamous, rumored fight with the Bat shortly after. Grayson’s condition. Harper’s death.

Truth be told; Todd was actually handling this new series of tragedies burdening his soul with admirable strength and logic, that many would only dream of maintaining in such occasions. Everything had crumbled down over his shoulders, harshly and unforgivingly, and he was still standing. Standing and _thriving. _On his own fields. In his own way. And he could still smile through all of it, no matter how shattered and devastated his heart was in his chest. It is yet another thing adding to how interesting Jason is. And how appealing to him. And how cute.

Still. There’s only _so_ much one can take before they break, he supposes. Jason’s moment had finally arrived.

He holds the kid even tighter through those silent sobs, free hand coming up to lightly grip at the back of his neck. Just so that Jason knows he doesn’t intend to let him fall apart.

“I want them. Just… want them back,” Jason whispers desperately against his skin, shuddering.

“I know, kid,” he murmurs, pressing his lips on his temple. “I know.”

Yeah. That much he _does_ know.

* * *

Once they’re both out of the shower and back in the bedroom, Slade sprawls back on the sheets and pulls Jason to him once more. This time, however, he meets resistance. The kid, who has sufficiently recollected himself, stands a bit back, momentarily refusing to let himself get dragged forward. There’s some degree of hesitation, for the first time this night.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs quietly, looking down, a pink shade rising on his cheeks. “That was bullshit. I’m sorry.”

Slade hums, tracing his jaw with his fingers, feeling up those sharp lines before he moves his hand to Jason’s wrist. He pulls a little more forcefully, until the kid gives in and lays down on his side, facing him. He rubs up and down Jason’s arm until he feels the boy relaxing once again, quietly moving closer to him.

Slade lightly touches his chin and tilts his head up, meeting his eyes. Strokes his thumb under that soft bottom lip. “You’ll get through this,” he drawls, as if talking to a child.

Jason snorts, looking down again, and Slade tightens his grip until he glances up. “Did you hear me?” he insists. “You’ll get through this. You’re in pain. Fine. You’re slowly breaking? _Fine._ You’ll _still_ get through this.”

Jason takes a short breath. “I appreciate this, Slade,” he sighs quietly, and then adds, swallowing, “but I don’t know if… _why_ I should even bother trying at this point.”

“Because I say so.”

The kid chuckles, touching his forehead against Slade’s collarbone. “Fuck you. You can’t just order me to do that and have me melting all over you. This isn’t sex.”

“You’ll do it because this is what you do. It’s who you are. Strong. Determined. Survivor. Whine all you like now. But tomorrow, you’ll be on your feet again.”

Jason, who clearly doesn’t believe that one bit, mutters a vague “okay”, before nuzzling his face in his chest. Slade feels the kid’s long eyelashes flutter against his skin, and soon after, the soft caress of his breath as he exhales evenly, having already fallen asleep.

He waits for a while, and then carefully rolls on his back, starring at the ceiling.

Ingratitude was never a thing that truly bothered him. Most of the time, he couldn’t care less. Receiving praise or recognition for an action of his wasn’t at his interest -payment would do just fine. And, of course, anything that didn’t directly concern him wasn’t his business. He’d never spend time on anything like that. Never—

He glances at Jason again.

Crap. Yeah, it fucking bothers him.

He huffs out a breath, feeling a reluctant annoyance nesting in his chest. He can’t but observe that… it is quite the thing; how the flawless image people have in their heads about their beloved heroes, their idols of perfection, would crumble to the ground, had they known the things his own ‘evil’ kind has seen of them.

Take Batman, for example. His son -this heartbroken thing beside him- had come back from the dead. Literally. And, as a matter of fact, the man hadn’t even _tried_ for this. It just _happened. _Not all fathers were so lucky, as he can bitterly assure anyone wondering. And yet, despite that, despite everything it meant… _this_ is how he treats to the boy. Constantly judging him. Beating him senseless. Casting him away. Casually abandoning him completely, seemingly uncaring to whatever’s happening to him. All over the well-being of a scum like Penguin (who, by the way, had survived the whole thing).

Some hero. Sure.

This wasn’t just a dashing show-off of inadequacy. In Slade’s eyes, it was a hubris. It has him boiling in anger. He believes -he has to believe- that he’d never allow this happen to his own kid, had he been lucky enough to be in Wayne’s place. And if he had to do the most horrible things in order to keep him safe and up on his feet, so be it. He wouldn’t let him fall. No matter the cost. Never again.

To be honest, though, Jason truly is one of the unluckiest people he’s ever met in his life. He just _now_ happens to be in his hour of greatest need. Now, that is the worst time for a Bat to be in that place. All his friends gone, dead or missing. Daddy Bats far too busy, and also reaching down his lowest points, from what Slade can tell by looking at the current situation in Gotham. Grayson being someone else, a person that most definitely wouldn’t care to offer a single hand of help (had the real Grayson been a witness to this, he would viciously punch himself back to awareness, freaked out over the fact that he had ever let one of his brothers fall down that low). As for the little Robin, well… him and Jason never seemed to be close anyway. He doubts he’d care enough to bother.

He himself cannot take care of this. He could never.

And then there’s Drake.

Slade knows of the boy as much as he knew of Jason, before this thing between them started; nothing more than the basics. Still, this phone call earlier, the sincere words and that clearly emotional tone of his manages to convince Slade of Drake’s genuine interest.

Jason’s still asleep, sweetly curled up against his arm when he stretches out his free hand, reaching for the wireless phone over the bed stand. He calls back on the number of the last missed call. It takes too long for the kid to pick up, but Slade has patience, and faith in that obvious desperation he’d witnessed earlier.

Rightfully so, as it becomes apparent not long after.

_“Jason? Jay?”_ is the first, agonized sound that comes, once the phone is suddenly picked up. Then, a relieved, breathless little laugh follows. _“Damn, I barely got it, I was just about to get in the… anyway,” _his voice instantly softens. _“I’m so glad you called back, I… how are you?”_

“Should I answer for myself, or for your brother?”

He can’t claim that it isn’t utterly amusing, picturing the frown he hears in the kid’s voice next. _“Who is this?”_ he asks abruptly.

Slade caresses Jason’s back with his fingertips. “It is quite hilarious,” he goes on, “how you Bats only seem to care about each other _only_ when one of you is in danger.”

_“Deathstroke?”_ the kid now rasps.

“Quite… pretentious. Some would say…”

_“Where is Jason?”_ Voice dry and numb.

“… hypocritical, even.”

He doesn’t believe that’s true, not in Drake’s case anyway, and this is exactly why he teases him with it; any time a person is wrongfully blamed, a whole lot of emotional reactions can be provoked. Which is exactly what Slade aims for. As is the enraged outburst that follows.

_“If you’ve hurt him, I swear to every…”_

Jason stirs, frowning in his sleep, the sudden raise in the volume apparently registering to him. Slade covers the handset, just as the kid wearily picks his head up, hazed. “Tim?” he murmurs, looking around the room.

When he turns his gaze to him, Slade only strokes his fingers along the smooth skin of his jaw. “Sleep, pup,” he only offers.

Jason, clearly both unable and uncaring to focus at this point, complies, shifting even closer to him, head resting upon his chest. He’s rumbling something incomprehensible -Slade only catches the word ‘dreaming’- before instantly dozing off once again.

Slade brings the phone back to his ear. “Got it off your chest? Ready to talk seriously?”

_“I want to talk to him, **now!**”_

“He’s not currently able to speak, and I figure it’s for the best. Such a mouth could only get him in more trouble.”

Tim huffs, fighting to catch his breath. _“What do you want?”_ he hisses.

“I want you to be here within the hour.”

There’s a moment of hesitation, before Drake answers, unable to hide a certain tone of agony anymore. _“I… that’s impossible, I’m not in Gotham, I… damn. Dammit. Three hours. I can make it in three. Just give me those hours.”_

Interesting. He would assume that, during the previous, short pause, Drake was debating on whether or not he should fall into the trap Slade was making it look like was set for him. While he knows Drake is smart enough to have comprehended that already, Slade’s impressed on how the kid doesn’t seem to hesitate one bit. His only concern is the fact that he cannot make it there -in this supposed trap- in time.

Such devotion.

He hums. “And not a minute more.”

_“If I don’t speak to him first, there is no deal,”_ he requests sharply, trying to sound determined and unafraid.

“As I’ve said… your stubborn brother has rendered himself unable to speak. Not my fault, really. He basically brought this upon himself.”

The implication that he’s already harmed Jason in some way finally gets him a more honest, more evidently desperate reaction. _“Please…”_

“I’d suggest that you get here very, _very_ soon. And needless to say, kid… if I see any other Bats or super friends lurking around, I’ll make sure you’ll never hear his pretty voice again.”

Now, that certainly is quite disturbing and harsh, but… whatever a guy needs to sound convincing.

Slade hangs up, without another word.

* * *

He actually takes a nap for about an hour and half, confident enough in the idea that he still has a decent amount of time to spend pleasantly. He wraps an arm around the kid, enjoying his warmth. The feeling of keeping him close. How relaxed and pliant he feels against him. He knows quite well that, once Jason realizes what he did, well… he most definitely won’t take this kindly. Slade will have to deal with his fury, next time they meet. He expects he’ll get his head around, eventually.

He takes his time to get back in his clothes and suit, before making his way behind the bar, to get his bag of cash. If anything, tonight, he’s really fucking earned it.

As soon as he’s done, he returns in the room and pulls the sheet over the kid’s form, after he’s made sure he’s lying on his left side, no chance to turn on his back in his sleep. He brushes fingers through his hair, and… there’s no one there to see, so he doesn’t fight the urge to lean over him and let his mouth roam across one smooth cheek. Jason moves his head slightly in his sleep, however, and their lips end up softly brushing together.

Slade allows the moment to linger, just so that later, when he’s inevitably thinking about it once more, he brutalizes himself into believing that the thing he has for this kid is entirely sexual and nothing more than that.

Nothing at all.

* * *

_*The movie they're referring to is **Less Than Zero (1987).**_

**Author's Note:**

> (... aaaand this is as Nice as it gets XD)
> 
> My Tumblr: [Lady Paper Writerson's](https://ladypaperwriterson.tumblr.com/)


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